


Skate to the Bright Side

by xxxbookaholic



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Sports, Angst with a Happy Ending, Competition, Fluff and Angst, Getting Together, Jealous Oma Kokichi, Jealousy, M/M, Planned Plot, Rollerblades & Rollerskates, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-24
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-14 14:22:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29668617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxxbookaholic/pseuds/xxxbookaholic
Summary: Steeling himself with a tiny breath, Kokichi resigned to wait through the rest of the match, no matter how boring it turned out to be. After all, he might not get another chance to talk to Shuichi again. His best bet was to wait it out and ask him for his number in person, when there would be no way to lose him in the crowd of fanatic viewers.Just you wait, Saihara, Kokichi thought, leaning back in his chair and crossing one leg over the other. He'd see for himself how good this newbie really was.(And he'd absolutely destroy said newbie in the process.)
Relationships: Oma Kokichi/Saihara Shuichi, Other Relationship Tags to Be Added
Comments: 4
Kudos: 37





	Skate to the Bright Side

+

_ “Coming out of my cage, and I’ve been doing just fine. _

_ Gotta gotta be down, because I want it all.” _

\- Mr. Brightside, by The Killers

+

Wind tussling strands of loose hair, adrenaline pumping through rushed blood, impact hitting wheels with enough force to nearly knock him off his feet; these were all feelings that, over the years, Kokichi Ouma had become quite familiar with. Over the sound of his own blades hitting concrete, all of the crowd’s incessant cheering became nothing but a kitten amongst tigers. One pipe there, another grind here… no matter how many times he skated, not a thing in the world could compete with this feeling of pure ecstasy.

He could practically see his score already, raising higher and higher with every jumpbox he nailed. The clock kept ticking, signaling that his sixty seconds of fame were drawing closer to an end with every passing moment, but he still didn’t stop in his tracks. There was no use checking, anyway. To him, it didn’t matter if he had one or thirty-five seconds left; he’d skate to his heart’s content regardless, because what else  _ could _ he do?

His wheels slipped and slid, but that didn’t stop him. If anything, it egged him on, only acting to further his determination. He would win, and then he’d win again, and after that he’d win one more time, just for good measure. Again and again, until he was exhausted and unable to move another finger.

Kokichi finished just in time, skidding up the ramp he’d done countless flips on and halting right at the top, breathless but still standing. Applause broke out from all angles, and he could faintly hear a few whoops of, “ _ I went to school with him _ ,” but to Kokichi, all he could hear was a distant ringing and his own shaky breaths.

_ Oh,  _ he thought absently, glancing at his scraped up hands.  _ Maki will be upset that I went all out like this. _

_ Ironic.  _ Kokichi laughed to himself, but it came out as more of a wheeze.  _ I don’t think I ever want to stop. _

* . °•★|•°∵ ∵°•|☆•° . *

To no surprise, he was named victor of the match; professional or not, Kazuichi Souda was still nothing more than a try hard. Not even a few extra points could have saved him in the originality department – seriously, did that guy know what creativity even  _ was _ ? His whole program was the same old flips and old tricks. In other words, it wasn’t quite boring, but it might as well have been.

Kokichi had to cut the guy some slack, though. If he had anything going for him, it was his efficiency; just a little more practice, and he’d be a natural at flat spins. (Not that flat spins were very impressive on their own, though. Either way, Kazuichi would have to up his game by, say, a thousand times if he wanted to beat someone as  _ talented _ as Kokichi.)

He peeled off a pair of sweat-soaked socks, wrinkling his nose and throwing them beside his equally-wet skates. If he hated anything about inline skating, it had to be how drenched he ended up by the end of it all. It didn’t matter that it was forty degrees outside, not when the sun was still out and the auditorium was full of bodies giving off more warmth than a chihuahua in heat did.

“Now I probably smell as bad as Miu,” he grumbled to himself half-heartedly, glaring down at his sneakers instead of slipping them on like he was technically supposed to. A whole locker room to himself, and he still couldn’t focus on cleaning up and getting out.  _ I don’t want to leave.  _ He pouted like a spoiled toddler, arms crossed and all.  _ I want to keep skating. _

Unfortunately, his moping session was soon interrupted by the creaking of a rusty door. The sound succeeded in drawing his attention away from his traitorous shoes and to the intruder, who happened to not  _ really _ be an intruder – it was a public room, after all – but he was a stranger all the same. Gold-gray eyes were the first thing that caught his attention, shining bright in the dim, yellow lighting of the locker room. Long, black lashes outlined said eyes, forming a shadow over his cheeks and clumping on his lids. For reasons that he couldn’t explain, Kokichi couldn’t find it in himself to tear his gaze away; or at least, he couldn’t until the stranger cleared his throat and finally spoke, voice awkwardly pitched but still audible.

“Uh, sorry,” he mumbled, averting his eyes and pulling at the lock of one of the cupboards. The boy fumbled through stuff that Kokichi couldn’t quite see, but could definitely hear, and then tugged out two matching, navy blue skates. “I’m just grabbing these.” He held them up for emphasis and then walked back out before he had even put them on, slamming the door shut on his way.

Kokichi blinked once, twice, and then stumbled to get up, not bothering to finish pulling his arm through one sweatshirt sleeve as he shoved the door back open. “Hey, wait!” he called, poking his head out the door. Upon hearing his voice, the boy paused in his steps and twisted on his heel to face him.

“Huh?” he choked out, eyes wide as the moon. “Me?”

Kokichi had to force himself not to roll his eyes as he replied, “Yes, dummy. Do you have a match coming up?” Just a few hours ago, he’d assumed that he knew everyone in the inline skating field. Now, however, he’d been effectively proven wrong, and was desperate to find out how exactly that was possible.

“Oh, um, yeah?” The answer sounded more like a question than a statement, but it was clear enough, so Kokichi decided to let it slide. Just that once. “In a few minutes.”

“Huh,” Kokichi mumbled, nodding to himself. “Well, I’m coming to watch, so you better not disappoint me!” The skater’s expression changed at least five times after that before finally settling on an agape mouth and terrified stare, face a paper-white.

“What?” he asked, finally turning around fully so he could face Kokichi.

“If you do, I’ll have to kill you,” he said instead of responding to the boy’s obvious bewilderment.  _ Ah, I’ll never get tired of this, either,  _ he thought to himself, smiling smugly and linking his hands behind his neck.

The boy opened and shut his mouth like a fish on land, displaying nothing short of unadulterated confusion. “What?” he repeated with a bit more intensity, looking Kokichi up and down like he was some kind of zoo animal and not a human boy.

“So I’ll see you there,” Kokichi laughed before turning and high-tailing it back to the locker room, this time rushing to get his shoes and socks on as quickly as possible. He had no time to delay, not when the next match was in just a few minutes. Luckily, if there was one thing he could indefinitely pride himself on, it was his speed, so he finished up in record time and gathered his stuff even quicker, somehow feeling more exhausted than he had while skating.

_ Chances are he’s just a typical newbie,  _ he reminded himself on his way down the hall, the mysterious boy now nowhere in sight.  _ Not something to make a fuss over. I’ll probably just bail on him midway through like I usually do. _

With a final wave of acknowledgment to the people he passed on his walk, Kokichi pushed open the doors to the arena and made his way inside, pushing and shoving past screaming fans to find an open seat near the front. Bright pink stage lights threatened to blind him, but Kokichi ignored them, already far too used to their relentless glare.

Noise erupted from the stadium, a familiar face having begun introducing the various contestants. Kokichi knew most all of them: Makoto – a young upstarter who joined the field around 2016 – Kamukura – a rollerblading genius who got admitted into the world cup with as little as two years of experience, and Ryoma – a man who was known for his fifteen years spent in prison, but even more so known for his better than perfect 360s.

The only person who he didn’t recognize was the boy referred to as  _ Shuichi Saihara _ by the match’s referee – also known as the same boy that managed to pique none other than  _ Kokichi Ouma’s _ attention. (It truly was an honor to be in his grace, let alone on his mind. Or at least, that was what Kokichi thought.)

Amidst the yowling of fans and skidding of wheels, he could only barely make out what the referee was saying, but he heard enough. Long story short, Shuichi Saihara was a newbie, so that would explain why Kokichi didn’t know him, but even so, there was something familiar about him.  _ Maybe I passed him at the grocery store?  _ he thought to himself, tuning out the rest of everyone’s introductions.  _ But I haven’t gone shopping in at least a month, so that’s impossible, isn’t it? _

In the inline community, beginners were a rare breed; they were the type of people that seasoned rollerbladers would probably put into a zoo exhibit if they could, too innocent for their own good. More often than not, it was the same old people who competed in aggressive inline skating and the occasional speed races. The sport itself wasn’t very popular, and sometimes even Kokichi wondered how he got involved in such an obscure hobby.

Still, to him, it didn’t matter how many people took part in rollerblading; as long as he got to skate in that stadium, he’d isolate himself as much as he needed to.  _ But I’m sure just one new kid won’t hurt,  _ his traitor of a brain argued. Unfortunately, against his better judgment, Kokichi’s feet remained planted onto the ground, unmoving from his current position by the fence. The countdown till start had begun while he was lost in thought:  _ One. Two. Three. Four. Five- _

__ Shuichi didn’t even wait for the buzzard to go off, although whether that was on purpose or an accident, Kokichi wasn’t sure. Nevertheless, he didn’t spend too much time thinking about it, instead opting to lean closer to get a better look at who he was dealing with. Yells and shouts came from both sides of him, but all he could hear was the skids and thumps of skates sliding across concrete.

Compared to his competitors, Shuichi was a certain kind of graceful; he skated like a dancer, slipping and sliding without losing his balance even once. It was the total opposite of Kokichi’s own style, creating a whole new definition for the word  _ eloquent. _ For a newbie, he skated as if he’d been doing it his whole life, landing flip after flip without stopping for air. Time ticked down on the clock, red numbers shining bright among flashing lights, but Shuichi still didn’t stop. He kept going until the cheers died down and the referee blew his whistle, forcing him to halt right in the center of the ring.

To say Kokichi was entranced would be an understatement. There was just something about his obvious determination that separated Shuichi from the others, drawing Kokichi closer with every pipe, flip, and grind. For the first time in a while, his heart was pounding for a person other than himself; it was an unfamiliar feeling, but not something completely unwelcome.

Watching the blue-haired boy exit the ring, face drenched in sweat and lips open in a heavy pant, only one thought managed to cross Kokichi’s screaming brain:  _ I want to challenge him to a game.  _ A game that he would win, of course. He hadn’t been beat in an inline match in at least thirteen years, and that wouldn’t change simply because of some over-excited newbie. (Still, there was no hurt in experimenting a little, right?)

Steeling himself with a tiny breath, Kokichi resigned to wait through the rest of the match, no matter how boring it turned out to be. After all, he might not get another chance to talk to Shuichi again. His best bet was to wait it out and ask him for his number in person, when there would be no way to lose him in the crowd of fanatic viewers.

_ Just you wait, Saihara,  _ Kokichi thought, leaning back in his chair and crossing one leg over the other.  _ I’ll see for myself how good you really are. _

( _ And I’ll absolutely destroy you in the process _ .) 

* . °•★|•°∵ ∵°•|☆•° . *

People were practically trampling each other, zooming to and from in a flurry of post-match chaos. Some people were asking for autographs, others were taking unsolicited photographs, and a special type of people were just walking around for the fun of it, musing to other fans about this and that. Kokichi found himself having to quite literally step on his peer’s feet to reach his destination.

“Saihara-chan! Hey, Saihara-chan!” he attempted to shout over the noise, but it was to no avail. With the way everyone’s voices were raising, there was no way Shuichi would hear him amidst the mayhem. He would have to up his game.

_ Where is somewhere Shuichi will definitely be going?  _ he considered, stopping in his tracks and watching the skater disappear into the crowd.  _ Think, think, think _ –  _ aha, that’s right!  _ There was no way Shuichi would leave without heading to the locker room first, and unlike Kokichi, he didn’t know all of the secret hallways and shortcuts. If he just took a back route, he’d be able to meet him right before he left.

With that in mind, he turned on his heel and began walking in the opposite direction, eyes not straying from his chosen path. Pretty soon, heads shifted into paintings and chatter turned into the sound of footsteps against marble, disconnecting him entirely from everyone besides himself and his goal. Just a few more paces, one more turn, two more steps-

And finally, after what felt like hours, Kokichi finally shoved the locker room doors open and strode inside. It was just as he had left it, besides a few used tissues strewn across the place and at least five torn shoelaces.  _ Gross.  _ He wrinkled his nose and opted to step over the trash on his way to the benches, sitting down as far away from an open locker as possible.

It didn’t take long for the door to open, leaving a tired-looking Shuichi Saihara in its wake. However, that exhaustion was soon replaced by horror as he locked eyes with Kokichi. “Uh,” he choked out.

“Woah there, buddy!” Kokichi giggled, leaning his head back. “I won’t murder you yet! I’m just here to talk,” he said casually, tapping his knuckle on the bench.

Shuichi blinked once, twice, and then finally shut the door behind him. “Yet?” he mused as he opened one of the room’s many lockers, sorting through a bunch of stuff that Kokichi couldn’t quite make out from his position.

“Not yet. Your performance was satisfactory at best, but good enough for me to allow you to walk free for another day. Or two. Or  _ maybe _ three! Jeez, you sure are lucky I’ve taken pity on you,” he said, counting down the days with his fingers.

Shuichi’s face paled. “Pity?” he mumbled, voice barely above a whisper. By the time Kokichi finished his ( _ magnificent _ ) monologue, his roller blades were already thrown to the ground and half-way replaced by dark blue sneakers.

“Yup, pity! Did you know you look  _ super _ emo?” Kokichi replied, leaning forward and resting an elbow on his knees. “What, did your grandma already die from that poison I slipped her last night? I think that’s a new record!”

Shuichi whipped his head around, jaw dropped, but relaxed just as quickly, his mouth twisting into a frown. “What did you need to talk about?”

“Oh, nothing! Nothing at all!” Kokichi began to wave him off, relaxing into the puffy jacket he’d pulled on while watching the match. “Just that I may or may not have set a bomb off in your house while you skated, and if you don’t give me your phone number  _ right now _ , I’ll blow up all your stuff!”

Shuichi looked like a bomb really had been thrown right at him, ticking down the time until it exploded at his feet. With a reddened face and blown out pupils, all he could say was, “ _ Huh _ ?”

“You heard me! Hand over the number and your My Chemical Romance CDs will find peace amidst your stuffed bears,” Kokichi declared, babbling on about things that even he wasn’t able to comprehend. Still, it seemed to have the effect he wanted; with every word that left his mouth, Shuichi was beginning to look more and more inclined to hand over his cellphone and just tell him to take it. (Whether that was because he actually wanted to talk more or because he wanted Kokichi to shut up already, that was up for debate.) (A debate that Kokichi most certainly would not show up to.)

“You,” Shuichi stammered out, nose scrunched up awkwardly. “My number?”

“What, do you not speak Japanese?” Kokichi asked, hopping up and taking a few strides closer. “Yes!  _ I _ ,” he pointed at himself, “want  _ your _ ,” he then pointed to Shuichi, “phone number! Preferably within the next five seconds, before I take a knife to your chest.” The words came out easily, standing to prove how comfortable he’d gotten with such graphic things.  _ It must be that whore’s fault,  _ he thought to himself, frowning at the very thought of the blonde-haired inventor.

Shuichi stared at him blankly for a few seconds and then raised one brow, moving to pull a black hat over his head. Unfortunately, it hid a good half of his face under the brim, obscuring his expression from view.  _ I guess I’ll just have to imagine.  _ “Is this your way of asking for my number? Because there were more constructive ways to do that.” His face was deadly serious despite the cheerful topic, mouth twitching as though he couldn’t decide between a smile or scowl.

“Blah, blah, blah. Technicalities don’t matter in life or death situations!” Kokichi hopped even farther forward, being forced to tilt his head upwards to meet Shuichi’s shadowed-over eyes. “Now give it!”

“Why?” Shuichi asked, but he did as told regardless, grabbing a piece of scrap paper from his pocket and picking up a random pencil from the bench. Kokichi had to force himself not to grimace at the thought of just how many germs were on that thing, instead opting to take a simple step backwards.  _ Well as long as he doesn’t rub the wood all over that piece of paper, it’s fine. _

Kokichi sighs overdramatically, leaning over in an attempt to hide his discomfort. “Because I told you to!”

“I thought it was to save my house from a bomb?” Shuichi said, all the while handing over the little scrap of paper. Kokichi took it by only the corner and slid it into his pocket as subtly as possible, trying his best not to get anything on his hands. Who knew where that thing had been?

“That’s what I said,” he chirped before turning around and beginning to skip towards the exit. “Well, that’s it! I’ll make sure to get back to you when the issue is resolved. Or maybe even before? Who knows,” he shrugged, pulling the door open.

Shuichi sputtered from behind him, and when Kokichi stepped outside and turned back around to face him, his face was white as a ghost. “You’re leaving just like that?”

“Yup!” he cheered, pumping his fists in the air. “I’m only talking to you for professional purposes.” He tried to put on his best teacher's face, even going so far as to push up an invisible pair of glasses with his middle finger. “What, did you think I was asking you on a date or something?”

Shuichi spun around the second Kokichi even just uttered the word  _ date,  _ coughing into his elbow distractedly. “Um, no. Just – I – never mind. Bye,” his voice was getting quieter by the second, and Kokichi couldn’t find it in himself to feel bad; rather, the sound of his fluster made him feel oddly empowered, like he was on top of the world.  _ This guy is really something, huh. _

“Yup! Bye bye, Saihara-chan!” And with that, he let the door slam shut just inches in front of his nose, leaving him alone in the long, dauntingly familiar hallway.

_ I wonder what else Saihara has got up his sleeve? _

+

_ “It started out with a kiss. How did it end up like this? _

_ It was only a kiss, it was only a kiss.” _

\- Mr. Brightside, by The Killers

+

**Author's Note:**

> OKAY FIRST OF ALL, THANK YOU TO MY BETA READER, ROGUE, AKA SAYAKA'S LITERAL WIFE (she-on-the-aqua-isles [tumblr handle]) FOR BETAREADING THIS IMPULSIVE THING FOR ME. her response to this whole thing was, and i quote: Warning: Kokichi is very horny for skating. So uh. Yeah.  
> second, i hope you enjoyed the first chapter! this whole thing is outlined and is kind of a passion project for me! it is encompassing a lot of my favorite tropes and a few fan favorite tropes, and pushes rivals to friends to lovers to a different type of level. there is no set upload schedule, but i'll try to get them out at least once every two weeks. (at least.) if it goes any longer, rogue may or may not beat me with a bat, so you can thank her if an upload schedule actually appears.  
> please leave a comment if you find the time! it really encourages me to keep writing.  
> have a nice rest of your day/night. if you're interested in drv3 and a3! actors, consider following my tumblr: xxxbookaholic.


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